


Dying is Not an Option

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: Diagnosis Murder
Genre: Brief-one time only-explicit scene involving Steve/OMC, Early Work, Episode Related, Episode: Murder Can Be Contagious, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve found himself standing outside Jesse’s bedroom every evening after work. He measured the rise and fall of Jesse’s chest as he slept, listened to the sweet sound of his breathing, scrutinized each toe that peeked out from beneath the covers. It was a task he never tired of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying is Not an Option

Steve clawed at the brick wall he was pressed against, wishing for the hundredth time that he could literaly tear it apart piece by piece. Maybe then his anger would not be so all-consuming, maybe then his thoughts would be diverted from the reality of what could have been, what almost was.

 “Harder. Fuck me harder,” he demanded. 

His request was answered without hesitation, his body slammed repeatedly. The violent invasion of his ass should have extracted a protest, but the exact opposite held true. He begged for more. “Harder, damn it. I said, harder.”

Tipping his head back, he exposed his bare neck and shoulders, silently requesting another perverse distraction. The sharp tease of teeth upon his flesh was just that, a tease. It was definitely not what he wanted or needed. 

“For Christ’s sake, do it. Bite me!”  Teeth clamped down hard on his shoulder, breaking the skin. His companion attempted to clear away the bloody evidence of the bite with a swipe of his tongue, but Steve jerked away. “No, leave it.”

He seized the hand fisting his erection and squeezed. The additional pressure on his sensitive organ made him howl with pain. His yell should have brought the neighbors, the cops, but he didn’t care. Let them come. Let them watch. Let them be witness to the disintegration of one Steve Sloan.

“More, I need more.” Blunt nails scraped across his chest, attacking first the right, then the left nipple. The torment escalated a hundredfold when the metallic bite of clamps took the tender nubs hostage. His breath caught and held, then exploded into the silence.

“Fuck!” 

He shuddered helplessly as rivulets of sweat trickled down his face, his throat and lower to his naked body. The salty moisture discovered each scratch and bite and stung like hell.  Still, it wasn’t enough.

“More, more,” he insisted. His gasping petition was answered by fingers that tangled in the coarse thicket surrounding his cock. They yanked viciously, repeatedly, and the ensuing agony ripped right through him, setting his nerves on fire, tearing muscle from bone, leaving him teetering on the edge when all he wanted to do was fall into oblivion.   

“Not, not enough.” He nearly strangled on a scream when the granite-hard cock jack-hammering his ass pulled completely out, then rammed home again, brutally nailing his prostate. “Fuck, yeah!” he yelled. “That’s it. Again. Nail that sucker.”

The relentless pain, the excruciating pleasure, it was almost enough. Almost enough to---

“No! Not yet. God damn it, not yet!”

Shoving his ass backward, he attempted, in vain, to halt the climax that wouldn’t take _no_ for answer. He had run out of time. His body, along with that of his companion’s, turned a deaf ear to his hoarsely shouted demands. The torment had run its course, the inevitable could no longer be denied. Liquid heat seared his insides, and, while choking back curses, he resentfully surrendered to his body’s ultimatum and splattered the brick wall with the evidence of his release. 

Strong arms caught him on his way down, easing him gently onto the unforgiving cement that was covered in sand. They held him close, sheltering him from the cool night air while he shuddered uncontrollably. Exhaustion briefly obscured his thoughts, allowing him a moment’s respite. It wasn’t enough. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve! What the hell is wrong with you?” The familiar husky voice lowered in volume and began whispering words tainted with a caring and concern that had once owned his life but not his heart. “Babe, talk to me. Please. I hate seeing you like this.” The metal nipple clamps were carefully removed. “Hell, Steve, not once during the entire three years we were together did we ever do it that rough. What’s going on?” 

Steve pulled free of the comforting arms holding him and hurriedly started jerking on his clothes. His actions weren’t up for discussion. 

“Steve? Talk to me, you son of a bitch. You owe me that much.” 

“You wanna know why, Derek? Why?” Steve unclenched the fist that was screaming for satisfaction. “ ‘Cause I need to forget. I need to forget the fear,” he answered quietly and disappeared into the darkness. 

+++++++

Pushing open the guest bedroom door, Steve stood silently, his gaze helplessly drawn to Jesse’s sleeping form. It was early morning, way too early for any sane person to be awake, which explained the sounds he could hear from the kitchen. His father was awake, no doubt fixing one of his famous Saturday breakfasts.

He yawned with utter exhaustion. It seemed every bone, every muscle, hell every damn blood cell in his body hurt and before he knew it, he was falling back against the wall facing the bedroom door and sliding to the floor. “Jesse,” he whispered brokenly, his hand reaching out for the early morning sun-drenched form lying on the bed. 

Dropping his head to his chest, he closed his eyes and forced back the emotional weariness that threatened to take him down. His sleep had been restless to say the least, and the tangled mess of sheets on his bed were a testament to that fact. "All I need is 8 solid hours of sleep. Is that too much to ask?" Silence answered his query. Taking advantage of his moment of solitude, he clasped his hands and quietly prayed, offering his thanks once again to the angels that had kept Jesse from prematurely joining them in Heaven. 

It had only been a week since Jesse had contracted a mutated form of smallpox and lay dying in the home of his father, Mark Sloan. Access to the handsome physician had been severed when Mark placed the house off limits by quarantining both himself and Jesse inside. Steve had been angered beyond belief and, more than once, had been forced to bite his tongue to keep from verbally venting his anger upon others, specifically his father.

Of course no one but himself knew why it was so imperative for him to be at Jesse’s side. Only his heart was privilege to the deep feelings he had for the man. Every moment he was away from Jesse, every time Mark reported Jesse was getting worse, his heart twisted in anguish. It demanded he do whatever was necessary to keep Jesse alive. Fear and anger drove him relentlessly in his search for the cure, often pushing him to the edge of police brutality.

When word came that Jesse had fallen unconscious and was close to dying, he had gone to the gym and pounded the hell out of not one but two punching bags. His knuckles were bleeding by the time exhaustion dropped him to his knees. He remained there, unmindful of his injuries until he had prayed to every god known to mankind. Unsure as to which deity had granted him his heart’s desire, he had silently rejoiced when the antidote was found and given to Jesse, thus snatching his friend from the arms of the Angel of Death.

The decision to allow Jesse to convalesce at their home had been his father’s, and Steve had wholeheartedly agreed with it. That was until he discovered he was once again denied contact. Relegated to the sidelines, he was forced to watch as others assumed responsibility for Jesse’s recuperation. Each day that passed with only Mark and Amanda answering to Jesse’s needs had pushed him closer and closer to the edge, and it wasn’t long before he actually resented his father’s chosen profession. 

Steve found himself standing outside Jesse’s bedroom every evening after work. He measured the rise and fall of Jesse’s chest as he slept, listened to the sweet sound of his breathing, scrutinized each toe that peeked out from beneath the covers. It was a task he never tired of. Unfortunately every time he seized hold of his courage and took a step across the threshold, prepared to confess his feelings, either Mark or Amanda would appear and steal away his moment with Jesse. 

Two evenings ago, tired beyond belief, he had fallen asleep in his car upon arriving at his father’s house. The unplanned nap had coalesced into the Nightmare from Hell and in this dream Jesse hadn’t survived. He’d died alone begging for Steve to help him.  Jerking violently awake, Steve had stared at the window of the guest bedroom where a very much alive Jesse now resided. He had to have sat there in his car for at least thirty minutes. Every time he closed his eyes he heard Jesse screaming his name. It soon became too much for him to handle. Fleeing his father’s home, he had sought release in the arms of an ex-lover, demanding a brutal coupling that would drive away the demons still tormenting him. The release had only been temporary, and the moment his gaze again rested upon Jesse’s sleeping form, the reality of how much he loved the man was driven painfully home once more

“Steve! Wake up. What are you doing sitting on the floor?”

He snapped open his eyes and found his father standing over him, a food tray balanced in one hand. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he shook his head, unwilling to explain the reason for his presence. 

“Son, you look like you haven’t slept a wink. Why don’t you go take a hot shower and, as soon as I finish helping Jesse with his breakfast, I’ll fix you some pancakes.” 

“No!” 

Steve scrambled to his feet and snatched the tray from his father’s hands. He ignored the shocked look directed at him.  “I’ll help Jesse,” he declared, pushing Mark away from the room. “Not you. Me. This time,  **I’ll** help Jesse.” 

“Steve, I really think I should---”

He growled a warning but immediately cut the sound off the second his father took a step back. He recognized from the look on his father's face that the sound of his frustration had immediately thrown his father’s protective instincts into overdrive.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked before reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. “Did something happen at work the other day? I know you didn’t come home until nearly midnight.” He indicated the tray with a nod of his head. “Maybe now’s not the time for you to do this. As I said earlier, let me---”

He advanced on his father, forcibly moving him further away from the doorway. “No.  No!” With one finger to Mark’s chest, he pressed his father against the wall. “I am going in that room and spend some time with Jesse. And nobody, not you, not Amanda, is gonna to stop me from doing that.”

Calming his raw emotions with a deep breath, he stepped back and briefly rubbed his hand up and down his father’s arm in an apologetic manner. “I need some time with Jesse, Dad. Okay? It’s important.” 

His father observed him closely for a moment, his shrewd gaze no doubt gathering the clues that finally led to his understanding of the unspoken request. The hand resting on his father’s arm was tightly gripped. 

With a sympathetic smile on his face, Mark nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” 

Steve bowed his head in appreciation. “Thanks, Dad.” A pat on his hand was his father’s only answer before leaving him alone in the hallway.

Straightening the items on the tray, he slipped inside the guest bedroom and firmly closed the door. He wanted no onlookers and no intruders, and for a brief second, considered locking the door. That thought was quickly negated. A locked door would raise questions he wasn’t quite ready to answer. Yes, his dad knew about his bisexuality but not Amanda, and personally, he preferred to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Placing the food out of harm’s way on the nearby nightstand, he carefully sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked his fill of his father’s current houseguest. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be staring like a love-struck fool at Jesse Travis, he would have laughed his head off. Jesse was too young, too spirited, too much of everything for a hardened, care-worn cop such as himself .

To be honest, Jesse was not the kind of man that would have pinged his radar in the past. He liked his partners older, experienced, those that could physically take him down and ride him hard. He was a bottom when it came to men and found it strange that Jesse brought out the ‘top’ mentality in him. If Fate allowed the two of them to get together, their relationship would definitely be different and, as far as he was concerned, well worth the trouble of reversing his perspective – he smiled – pun intended.

“Time to teach an old dog a new trick,” he mumbled as he continued to stare at Jesse.

Tousled strands of blond were scattered half-hazard across Jesse’s forehead, and without thinking, Steve reached forward and swept them to the side. Instead of removing his hand completely, he rested it lightly against the curve of a pale cheek and began to brush his thumb back and forth over whisker-rough skin.

“Jess, if you had . . . .”

An ache of such overpowering need shattered his sorely-tested control, and he yielded without a protest. Leaning down he pressed his lips ever so lightly to Jesse’s and hoarsely demanded of his sleeping friend, “Don’t you ever die on me, Jess. At least not any time soon.”

Normally not given to displays of tenderness, at least not with men, he tempted Fate and bestowed upon Jesse another gentle kiss, this one to his right cheek. He then shook his head in wry amusement at the uncharacteristic behavior. Guess it just went to show how utterly besotted he was with the younger man. To kiss not once but twice a friend who had absolutely no clue as to the effect he was having on him was ludicrous, but damn if he wasn’t willing to do it again. In fact ---

“Steve?”

Steve nearly gave himself a self-induced case of whiplash he jerked back so sharply. Cursing his lapse of control, he forced a smile before greeting the pair of drowsy blue eyes staring up at him. “Morning, Jess. Sleep okay?”

“Steve?” Jesse let loose a yawn that not only stalled his next question but threatened to split his face in half. “Steve, did you just kiss me?”

One unsteady hand fought its way from beneath the bedcovers and pressed itself to his chest. Steve prayed the owner of the hand was too drowsy to detect the warp speed rhythm of his heart.

“How ‘bout some breakfast?” he asked in an attempt to divert the conversation. He assisted Jesse to a sitting position and tucked a pillow behind his back once the man was comfortably situated. “Knowing Dad I’m sure he’s fixed you something nutritious and delicious.”

Escape suddenly uppermost in his mind, he was in the process of sliding off the bed when Jesse slipped a hand inside the collar of his shirt and gripped the back of his neck. It stopped him dead in his tracks. Closing his eyes, he hung his head in embarrassment only to have it nudged back up by a thumb under his chin.

“Steve, I asked you a question,” Jesse reminded him. “Did you kiss me?”

Steve lifted his head and immediately his gaze was captured. The deep ocean blue orbs trained on him demanded he tell the absolute truth. Thus, instead of fabricating an excuse for his unorthodox behavior, he simply nodded. He had never lied to a lover before, and he wasn’t going to start now. Of course Jesse wasn’t his lover, at least not yet, and if there was any prospect, even the remotest chance that Jesse could, in the near future---

His mental ramblings were put on hold when Jesse lifted his other hand and slid it into place behind his neck. Intertwining the fingers of both hands, he held him in place.

“Good thing you said yes,” Jesse replied with a drowsy smile.

Steve was listening, but not really listening. Jesse’s hands had slid down his neck and were now resting on his shoulders, the right one specifically gripping the bite mark given to him by his ex-lover. The sharp, stabbing pain had startled him. It had also reminded him of . . . . He slammed the door on the memory of that night. He was somewhat ashamed of his behavior and knew he needed to apologize to Derek for embroiling him in the wreckage of his emotional control.

“. . . . and, yeah, for a moment I thought I was having that dream again.”

Dream? What was Jesse going on about?

 “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What dream?”

Pressure was again applied to the back of his neck, and he willing lowered his head until his mouth was mere inches from Jesse’s. “You were saying?”

Instead of an answer, he got another yawn. This one was so huge, he swore he could see clear down Jesse’s throat to the toes peeking out from beneath the covers.

“You know,” Jesse answered. He slid his hands along Steve’s shoulders once again and then down his back. “That dream where you kiss me right before I die. In fact,” Jesse yawned a third time, “why weren’t you there? I needed to see you, tell you stuff, important stuff before I died.”

Every single emotion he had wrestled with during the past week came crashing down on his again. “Jess, you can’t . . . I can’t go through that again.”

He ignored Jesse’s weakened condition and gathered the blond into his arms, crushing him against his chest. The last time he had felt such a rush of feelings had been when his mother died, and the memory of that anguish only made things worse.

Moisture collected in the corners of his eyes as he buried his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck and called the man by the endearment he’d secretly given him months earlier. “Sunshine, don’t. Please don’t.” His plea was choked into silence as, suddenly, anger took precedence over all other emotions.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he demanded hoarsely. He released Jesse only to press him down on the bed. “Do you have any idea the hell you put me through?”

Steve shifted his grip to shoulders that seemed too thin, too fragile. It didn’t stop him though; he shook Jesse hard. “I can handle a lot of shit, Jess, but not you dying. Do you hear me? You. Cannot. Die.” He stared straight at Jesse, his gaze never wavering, even after a pair of still shaky hands framed his face.

“If I promise not to die,” Jesse said, “will you stop yelling and kiss me again?”

The softly-spoken request was like a sharp needle; it deflated his anger immediately. Once that happened, his heart stepped forward and declared it was time for honesty.

“Jesse, I need to tell you something.” Steve closed his eyes just in case his friend wasn’t receptive to what he was about to say. He snapped them wide open when slightly warmer than normal lips laid claim to his own.

“You love me,” Jesse whispered. “Yeah, I kinda figured that one out all by myself.”

Steve felt sure his mouth was hanging open. He would have closed it shut but he was too busy watching Jesse stretch his arms above his head. The lazy move caused his t-shirt to ride up, exposing a trail of darker blond hair leading to territory hidden beneath his pajama pants.

He was still savoring the tempting sight when Jesse relaxed back down on the bed and said, “If I had known all it would take to get you out of the closet was for me to almost die, I would have made arrangements with your dad a long time ago.”

Steve shook his head in confusion. “Made arrangements with my dad?” His earlier frustration and anger stirred to life again. “What in God’s name are you talking about? Get me out of the closet? What about you?” He took possession of the hands reaching for his face and lowered them to the bed. “Not once, not one fucking time have you ever shown any interest in another man, much less me. Hell, Jesse, you’ve dated nearly every nurse at Community General, not to mention half the female population of---”

“Steve!”

Snapping his mouth shut, he glared defiantly at the man beneath him.  “What?”

“I like you, too, you doofuss.” 

Shocked, Steve did nothing to stop Jesse from wiggling his hands free. He watched in confusion as Jesse began to unbutton his shirt. “What? What did you say?”

“You heard me, Detective. Now, kiss me. Please?”

Steve caught Jesse’s wandering hands and pressed them to the pillow beneath his head. He couldn’t let Jesse see the healing cuts and bruises on his chest, not to mention the vivid bite mark on his shoulder. The younger man wouldn’t understand the tortured need that had driven him to seek oblivion in another man’s arms. Maybe one day he would explain to Jesse the darkness he'd lost himself in those few days. Maybe one day Jesse would be the man to help him if that darkness threatened to devour him again.

“Steve? Did you hear me? I like you, too.”

Steve stared down at Jesse. “Like? You like me? Like as in how much you once liked Susan? Or like as in how much you like Amanda, the sister you never had?”

“Yes,” came a breathless reply. “Like as in, you know . . . .”

Steve felt himself matching the pattern of Jesse’s breathing, which meant he was somewhat out of breath.  He closed his eyes briefly, sucking air into his lungs. This was his moment of truth. Would he be able to handle an answer that would crush his heart? Yeah, Jesse had kissed him, had taken him to task for keeping his bisexuality a secret but damn it, the man had nearly died, was still sick, was still recovering from a near death . . . .

He sucked in another lungful of air when his brain reminded him how beneficial oxygen was for his body. Taking the bull by the horns, he simply pleaded, “Jess, just tell me, okay?”

Jesse went absolutely still, the clear, lucid gaze of his blue eyes locking on Steve. “When I thought I was dying, I only wanted one person at my side. It wasn’t my Mom. Wasn’t Dad. Wasn’t Mark or Amanda.”

Slender fingers tangled in his hair, a thumb swiping the sensitive spot behind his left ear, causing him to shiver. 

“It was you, Steve Sloan. If I was going to meet my Maker, I wanted to spend my last minutes with you. Does that answer your question?”

An emotion he never thought to experience sent his heart into overdrive. He groaned silently. If this was what a heart attack felt like, he was more than willing to suffer the pain for the rest of his life.

“Damn it, Sunshine. I love you.” He, once again, pulled Jesse into his arms and buried his face in the man’s soft tangle of blond hair. “You’re it for me, Jess. Believe it.”

“Oh, I’ll believe it,” Jesse answered, “just as soon as you resume the task that woke me earlier.”

Steve welcomed the arms winding around his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I can handle that.”

Jesse pressed against his chest. “You feel so good.”

“How ‘bout I make  _you_ feel good.” He pressed feather light kisses along Jesse’s jaw and down the length of his neck. He next measured the length of his collarbone with his teeth, biting softly before healing the pale flesh with a swipe of his tongue. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the quiet begging noises coming from Jesse. Loving this man for the rest of his life was a gift he would never squander.

Sliding his hands beneath the hem of Jesse’s t-shirt, he smiled at his soon to be lover. “I hope your lips are up for this.”

Jesse’s answer of robust laughter finally eradicated the last vestiges of fear lurking in his heart.

“It’s not my lips you should be worrying ‘bout, Old Man.” Jesse welcomed his kiss with winded enthusiasm. “Tell me . . . tell me you took your vitamins this morning.  Tell me . . . oh God, Steve, your hands . . . tell me your heart is healthy enough for se---”

“Boys.”

Steve ripped his gaze away from Jesse and the sight of his swollen, damp slick lips. After a moment, he focused his attention on the outline of his father standing in the doorway. “Dad?”

Jesse took advantage of his confusion and, after yanking down his rucked up t-shirt, ducked under the covers. “You didn’t see nothing. You  **didn’t** see nothing,” he mumbled.

Steve found himself in possession of a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. How did that happen?

“Son, I’m not sure Jesse is quite up to the therapy you seem to be intent on prescribing for him.”

Fatherly hands straightened his askew collar before motioning to the forgotten meal tray sitting on the nightstand.  “Why don’t you help him with breakfast instead?”

Moving closer to the bed, Mark tapped the hidden lump that was Jesse’s head. “If you eat everything on your tray, I’ll let Steve bring you out on the terrace, and you two can sit together and make eyes at each other.” 

His father’s stern, unyielding gaze traveled back in his direction. “Seriously, son, I think that’s about all Jesse can handle at the moment.”

Steve was about to protest but found his mouth filled with bedcovers as his once shy physician abandoned his hiding place. Reaching for the glass of orange juice, Jesse instructed, “Come on, Steve. Feed me. The sooner I eat, the sooner we can go make out on the terrace.” Gulping down the juice, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

A sigh of defeat escaped his father as he turned toward the door. “It sounds as if our patient is on the road to recovery.”

Shoving the covers back down on the bed, Steve leaned forward and wiped Jesse’s mouth clean with his thumb, inhaling sharply when the younger man bit it. “I’m glad to hear that.” He clasped Jesse’s free hand and gripped it tightly. “ ‘Cause the plans I have for your patient require him to be in good health for the next seventy or eighty years.” He grinned at the surprised look on Jesse’s face. “Too long?” he asked.

Returning the empty glass to the tray, Jesse pulled his hand free and threw both arms around Steve’s neck. “Heck, no! I was figuring on at least a hundred.”

Steve groaned when Jesse began nibbling on his chin. “Sounds good to me, Sunshine. Now, get your ass in gear. There’s a terrace and fresh air calling your name. And hey, if you’re good, maybe some cable TV later this afternoon.”

The end

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**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why this never saw the light of day. I have a feeling I wasn't happy with the section following Steve's encounter with his ex. It was too light-hearted and didn't mesh with the beginning of the piece. I've rewritten it somewhat but am still not 100% happy with it. Unfortunately the muse has moved on to another fandom! I can only hope this can stand on its own the way it is. Thanks for reading!


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